


𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞

by mxash



Series: 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧. [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousin Incest, Dark Jon Snow, Dark Sansa Stark, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Half-Sibling Incest, Jon Snow POV, Murder, Past Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Plotting, Regicide, Sansa Stark POV, Season 8 Rewrite, Sexual Content, Some Fluff, a lil anti-dany, a lil bit of daensa, also, because god that was bad, but she's still a bitch, but we stan our queens, daenerys targaryen pov, dany thinks sansa hot, dany watches, he's not a complete moron in this, just saying, like she calls her a whore, mad dany is here though, not really - Freeform, press f to pay respects dany, she gets done wrong, she'd loud and proud, she's a real bitch to sansa, so a lil gay, you know i had to add in some gayness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-09-06 02:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxash/pseuds/mxash
Summary: “did you see her?” sansa snarled, a hand come to pull at his collar, pulling his mouth down only hairs from her own. “your targaryen queen has dressed as though she was a whore to catch your eye.”jon smirked as she bit his lip.what was this? dany had almost recoiled in her disgust and shock, but she hadn’t been able to pull herself away from the horrific sight.my lover and his own sister.





	1. my lover and his own sister

**𝐝 𝐮 𝐫 𝐢 𝐧 𝐠 𝐭 𝐡 𝐞 𝐝 𝐫 𝐚 𝐠 𝐨 𝐧 𝐪 𝐮 𝐞 𝐞 𝐧**

𝐝𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬

* * *

jon hadn’t touched her since they’d arrived at winterfell, half a moon ago. every night, she’d come to his chambers and asked for him to fuck her as he had on the boat. he’d refused, making excuse after excuse to avoid her.

daenerys had been perplexed.

there’d been many men who’d longed to have her in their beds, and she’d given herself freely to him, and he’d rejected her._ had he half a brain?_ she wanted him; he should have felt blessed to have her.

there was to be a feast that night, the night before the living went to fight against the dead – he might die. she might never see him again; she’d wanted him. she’d been sure that her gown had revealed enough of her skin as acceptable to the hall – a dragon had never cared for the cold as fire ran through their blood. her breasts had been pushed up and were on full display, her waist pulled taunt in her bodice, her hips appearing fuller with her vast skirts.

all eyes had been on her as she’d sat at the head of the table, jon opposite to her.

she glanced at him as the feast began to die; he hadn’t looked at her, not even once in the night. he’d been drinking from his goblet, his jaw strained – _i’ve most obviously the desired effect on him,_ she smirked. lady sansa stark had been whispering in his ear, a hand beneath the table.

he placed the cup on the table, his hand uneasy. he’d turned to meet his sister’s gaze and his eyes had ranked her body.

his stare had been intense over his sister’s form, her flesh covered from her collar to her boots. it was a peculiar glare; he’d looked as though he’d wanted to kill her – to run her through before the entire northern court.

_had he hated her so?_

from what she’d heard, day and night, they’d argued as though they’d been ancient foes. they’d screamed at one and another without a care for who heard, she’d thought they’d even strike each other seldom.

the day after they’d returned, jon had tried and failed to hide the deep, angry purple bruises that had marked behind his ear and a light mark of snarling teeth at his jaw. _would the lady of winterfell really be so bold as to bite her king?_ she’d wondered; she hadn’t seemed as though she was a daring woman, but she had not seemed even somewhat affected by her child drogon flying overhead of her.

_had she known no fear?_

jon stood, “lady stark and i will be retiring for the night, milords.”

she’d watched as he practically dragged his sister from the hall by her wrist. daenerys became suddenly alert, _was he to beat her as viserys would her?_

_whatever could she have said to deserve such?_

she stood, a few moments later, following the two to jon’s solar.

she’d meant to stop the two, but as she’d glance at sansa, she hadn’t seemed fearful. she was laughing as he’d loomed over her. daenerys watched as he’d pushed her against the wall, the she-wolf _growling_ as his hand crawled into her hair, red as drogon’s fire. “what game are we playing today, sweet sister?” his voice was hoarse but soft, holding her by her hip to the cold stone.

lady stark groaned as he yanked at the firey-red strands; it hadn’t seemed to come from pain. he’d forced her head to fall to the side; the dragon queen was able to make out a mark as deep a purple as her violet eyes beneath the norther’s collar.

“did you see her?” sansa snarled, a hand come to pull at his collar, pulling his mouth down only hairs from her own. “your targaryen queen has dressed as though she was a whore to catch your eye.”

jon smirked as she bit his lip.

_what was this?_ dany had almost recoiled in her disgust and shock, but she hadn’t been able to pull herself away from the horrific sight.

_my lover and his own sister._

“really?” his hand escaped her red curls, coming to brush against her covered breast. sansa moaned, a desperate sound. “i hadn’t noticed.” his hand travelled to her laces, pulling the strings lose; the prideful she-wolf hadn’t stopped him.

she pressed a kiss to his jaw, jon moving his head ever so slightly so that she might nibble at his throat. “would you have me dress the same?” she whispered against his skin, _ever so intimate, _“to be on display for all to see?”

“you are a stark of winterfell,” he’d spoken into her ear. her gown’s bodice had come lose about her; daenerys could see that she’d worn nothing beneath – not even smallclothes peeking through to shield her modesty. “you are a direwolf,” he nipped at the lobe, a small sigh escaping his sister, his hand trailing her uncovered flesh.

it’d seemed smooth - _not as smooth or as perfect as mine,_ daenerys though – but pleasant to his callous touch. she was pale as snow and her eyes had been blue ice, darkened in the dim light.

jon pressed a kiss to her cheek, teasingly close to her mouth; sansa had evidently longed for him to kiss her blood-red lips. he’d refused, much to his own amusement. “i would not have you as my whore.”

the she-wolf mused, brushing a hand over him as his own had travelled over her plump arse. “how noble of you, brother,” her tone was of mocking, but the breath had caught in her throat as his palm travelled over her cunt.

_she’s been acting like a whore,_ daenerys thought in her angered haze._ no, i have seen whores with more dignity - to not mule at her own brother’s touch, arch her back so that he could feel her breasts against him, palm his cock atop his breeches._

“what if i like when you treat me like a whore?” she forced out, lifting a leg and catching it about his waist.

his hand travelled under to raised skirts, and sansa sounded as though she might have howled at his touch. “you made that quite evident at dinner,” he’d breathed against her mouth, “would you have me fuck you before the entire court?”

the whore hummed. “if the dragon queen might watch,” she said, breathlessly. she’d seemed to be grinding against his hand as the other slowly peeled the gown from her flesh. “she might finally see true desire in your eye.”

_i have seen desire in his eye!_ she’d wanted to call, _plenty of desire._

but she’d know it hadn’t been _true_ yearning; this look he’d held for his sister had struck all question of his craving for his queen from her mind. he’d looked at her as though she’d been prey in a hunt, as though he might devour her at any moment.

his hand between her legs, her hand pulling at his raven curls, another braced against the cool stone - _despicable._

“i want her to know,” she went on, her teeth pulling at her bottom lip. “i want her to see where your desires truly lie.”

at that, jon pushed further into her so that there was no air between them, his hand still working between her legs. she mulled and snarled at him, crawling at the nape of his neck. daenerys could hear his breath, heavy against the she-wolf’s throat as he’d pressed a kiss to the soft flesh.

she’d remembered when he’d done such things to her, kissed her neck as he moved between her legs. it hadn’t been as sweet; daenerys had wanted it to be sweet. she was a dragon; her skin was too tough, left unmarked by their fucking.

as her gown fell, she could see that sansa’s flesh was scarred and bruised; _had jon done this to her?_

on their travels, he’d spoken of his whore little, only that she was the smartest person he’d ever met. tyrion had been her husband once; _she was much too lovely for my touch,_ he’d said.

_a sham marriage, and unconsummated._

jon hadn’t liked it when daenerys had asked him of marrying his sister’s off – _once she’d taken the iron throne,_ of course. he’d forced his hand down so forcefully that the room had shaken when she’d mentioned a re-establishment of tyrion and sansa stark’s marriage.

_my sister had seen more horrors in the shackles of marriage than you could fathom,_ he’d said. _i shan’t had her shipped off like a common whore again. _

then she’d thought he was merely protective, that he might change his mind in time; now, she knew. he could have another man touching _his_ she-wolf.

the dragon-queen had breathed a laugh, perhaps she’ll have them marry? _disgrace them before their northern prigs._

she-wolf’d thrown her head back against the wall, allowing him to bite down her throat, viscously tearing at her skin. “i want her to know that you want me, that you need me, that you love me.”

_love._ the dragon queen had wanted to hurl; _is that what this is? _he thinks he loves his sister - his sharp-tongued, traitorous whore of a sister! _his queen_ had been right before him, begging from him, and he’d been fucking his sister.

she’d burn them, the whole bloody lot of them. every stark that roamed these halls, she’d have them all be ash by morning. drogon would have taken great pleasure in that, ridding the traitors from her world.

“i want her to know that i carry your babe!” she’d cried out, his fangs catching at her delicate pulse. “that i shall birth your son and name him stark.”

_a child!_ daenerys had wanted more than to burn him; she wanted to strangle him. _had he known of it when he’d come to my bed?_ or perhaps, he’d fucked her upon his return and his seed then took root in her traitorous womb.

it was then the dragon queen thought, _had he been fucking his sister before i took him to my bed?_ had this all been her, _was jon innocent?_ _could he be innocent once again?_ if he’d come to her first, she may forgive him; it’d been sansa’s harlot-charms that’d swayed him from her bed.

it was sansa, all of it – she was sure of it.

_he could have loved me once;_ _he might love me still._

jon glanced up at her, bring his face level with hers. he’d seemed shocked, so much so that he’d pulled his hand from between her legs, much to his whore-sister’s dismay. “you are with child?” he’d asked, suddenly meek.

his hands had cupped her porcelain cheeks, a few crimson strands catching between his fingers. sansa leaned into his touch as though she’d craved it, his affection. she'd smirked, taking his hand and suckling on the fingers that had her been between her legs - jon's eyes were dark, despite his worry. “the night you left for dragonstone,” her voice was suddenly careful, nervous almost.

_the night he’d left for dragonstone!_ he’d come to her, tainted by that whore of a stark. _he’d lain with me, touched me, fucked me_, soiled by her vile cunt. daenerys was to kill them both; he’d put a bastard in his sister’s belly and then violated her with his spoiled touch.

his thumb caressed her sharp cheekbone as she’d spoke on. “within a moon, i was sure. i hadn’t bled but i’d been ill most every morning; i was going to be rid of it. i knew you’d said you’d never father a bastard,” sansa had a pleading tone, desperate almost as she’d taken his hand to her stomach. “but i could not bring myself to kill our child.”

despite her rage, daenerys had felt victory rise in her breast. his face was without emotion, but she’d known there was disgust boiling within him; he’d slowly shifted against her as though uncomfortable.

but then, _in his true bastard nature_, he’d leaned his forehead against hers and pressed his lips to hers. even his whore of a sister made a sound of surprise; it hadn’t stopped her from wrapping her hands about his neck and her legs about his waist, hoisted up by her bastard-brother.

_i should go in,_ she’d thought to herself; she couldn’t. she couldn’t move.

he’d suddenly been as desperate as the she-wolf, pulling the gown over her firey-head and pressing her back against the wall – daenerys thought she might had seen it crumble slightly.

jon had left his whore-sister completely bare, though completely clothed himself. daenerys watched as he’d gazed at her not-yet plump body – his sister’s breasts full as they’d been pressed against his chest, her arse a desirable size, her waist taunt (if not a slight bit ample). _she’d been a perfect northern beauty_, daenerys would admit to that.

her hands worked at his breeches, pulling at the laces as their lips battled for dominance. that’d only enraged daenerys more; _he’d never kissed me with such a wanting touch._

but he’d never had his fingers between her legs, _had he?_ nor had he touched her as sweetly, _had he?_

the dragon queen watched as he’d entered his sister, biting the whore’s lip to catch the groan that escaped her mouth. his forehead against hers, his breath heavy against her mouth, thrusting into her wanton cunt.

“how did you keep it from me?” he’d shifted, pressing a merciless kiss to her cheek, “why wouldn’t you tell me?”

sansa chuckled as he ravished at her jaw, “i didn’t want to worry you; i knew you’d come home _to me_.” she’d fumbled with his jerkin, pulling it over his head, dropping the leathers on her floor, atop her gown.

her hand crawling under his cotton shirt, travelling across his stomach, before pulling it over his raven head. her hand grazed his scars, leaning to press a somewhat sweet kiss to the deep crimson marks.

“i thought you might have me killed,” she’d said, breath hot against _daenerys’ lover’s_ mouth.

jon’d laughed as though it’d been a light jest; and perhaps it had been. “these few months have been that of torture,” he’d said, chasing her teasing lips. he’d thrusted into her so hard that the whore’s breath had caught hard in her throat, tearing hard at the skin of his back. “i’d never part with you over something so fickle.”

“is the dragon queen not fickle?” lady stark asked, moving to bite his earlobe, “or am to ignore that you spent three moons past in her bed?”

despite herself, her anger, her despair - daenerys grinned, _the whore is threatened by me? _then, at the least, he had some caring for his queen.

jon groaned, hand so tight on his sister’s waist that the queen had seen the white of his knuckles. “shall i be punished forever for this?”

his whore hadn’t answered him, only tightened her grip about his waist. she’d hummed into his ear as he’d placed his hands about her face again, catching her blue eyes.

“sweet sansa, we need her,” he’d moved to kiss her, but she’d only leaned away, a small smirk on her lips. jon had looked as though it’d been torture, not feeling her lips against his when he’d longed for it. “why must i be penalised for doing right by the north?”

the dragon queen bit her lip to keep herself from scoffing. she’d never forbidden a kiss from jon; she’d longed for his sweet embrace, _had he not seen this?_ sansa had been cruel and unforgiving, taking pleasure at his dismay – she would never be so harsh.

“_my love_,” sansa sighed, placing a hand atop his over her cheek. “my dear sweet, foolish brother – we are playing a most terrible game; i thought you’d liked when i chastised you?”

the she-wolf kissed him then, moaning as he’d moved against her. jon’s hand moved to grip her ample breast, and he’d smirked at her sigh of pain, “so long that it is forgiven.”

she nodded, moving her hips against his own. “all is forgiven as long as you love me best.”

jon laughed at his she-wolf, pressing his lips to hers in a savage kiss. “i love you only,” he breathed against her.

daenerys had finally forced herself to turn away from the horrific sight, she’d heard the whore whimper as he fucked her harder. she’d wanted to weep; she’d felt humiliated, a complete fool. _how could he do this to her_? she’d thought he might love her; she’d wanted him to love her – but he’d chosen his whore-sister over his queen. _how dare he?_ she’d kill them, burn them, have them dropped from a tall height.

* * *


	2. had she been mocking me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she watched her shrug, having jon’s hand wrap about her throat.  
was he punishing her? it hadn’t seemed like a punishment, as she bit back a moan at the pressure he’d put about her neck.

𝐝𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬

* * *

daenerys had not been able to sleep that night; when she’d close her violet eyes, she could only see her lover between his sister’s legs. the worst of it was that she wanted him still, even after seeing all that she had seen - she’d wanted the bastard still.

as missandei had braided her hair, she’d been silent. as the winterfell had broken its fast, she’d been silent. as the small council had spoken of the _long night,_ she’d been silent. she could bring herself speak, especial when jon sat beside her, his whore-sister alongside him.

only when jon had dismissed his lords, she’d spoken. her voice was stained, not yet dripping with the rage that boiled within her. “jon, lady stark, i’d like you to stay for a short while.”

the she-wolf looked at her. her eyes were as blue as ice, glazed with confusion, “i am to speak with the traitor karstarks soon, so i don’t have long.” her voice was cold and uninviting, slightly softening as jon had glanced at her as he’d sat back in his chair.

_a warning glance._

the door slammed shut, the dragon-queen stood. “lady stark,” she’d said, “how long have you been fucking your brother?”

her lover’s breath caught in his throat. there had been a long silence, an awkward stretch of time where jon had only shifted cumbersomely in his chair. sansa hadn’t met _her queen_’s eye, watching her fingers draw circles against the wood of the desk.

jon spoke, finally. “dany, you are mistaken, nothing-”

“silent!” she’d bellowed, suddenly enraged that he might lie to her. “i have asked your sister a question; i expect an answer.”

still, sansa sat emotionless at the head of the table, then she’s stared the dragon-queen in the eye. “i have no idea that you are talking about,” the lie fell so easily from her lips - those prim and perfect, lying little lips.

she watched sansa stand, moving to pour herself a cup of wine. “really? then who has fathered that babe that you were chanting about this night pasted?”

hushed, the she-wolf took a sip, leaning against the stone, as jon locked eyes with his whore. “sansa,” his voice was that of caution.

she smirked then, as though this had been all a sick joke. “jon, my love, she knows; who am i to lie to _your queen_?” her voice was mocking, insultingly so.

he stood; his knuckles white as his fists clenched. he moved to his whore with steady steps, an arm about her waist as he whispered in her ear. the she-wolf only hummed, pressing a hand to his cheek with a look of defiance painted on her pretty face.

“_your grace_,” she turned her head to the dragon-queen. “what would you like to know?”

suddenly, jon groaned, burying his face in sansa’s _kissed-by-fire_ hair– _was that what he called it?_ his arm tightened about her waist when she tried to pull away from him. she’d chuckled into his ear at his discomfort. _was this truly a jest to her?_

daenerys sneered, “i do not like repeating myself.”

“ah,” she took another sip, ripping away from jon’s steel grip to sit down in her grand seat. “how long has it been, brother?” she’d said with a look of pride, grasping the hand that had landed on her shoulder. _had she been mocking me?_

“sansa,” again, he sighed at her trivial antics.

“the night i put my husband to death, i do believe,” she’d glanced back at the queen. “i had shared jon’s bed for some time; i could not sleep without him beside me, but that night it’d been different.”

she watched her shrug, having jon’s hand wrap about her throat. _was he punishing her?_ it hadn’t seemed like a punishment, as she’d bit back a moan at the pressure he’d put about her neck.

daenerys stared on in disbelief as bent to whisper in her ear once again. _stop this madness,_ he’d muttered; his whore ignored his plea. “why?”

“_why_?” sansa echoed as jon’s hand fell. “you are a targaryen, you should know better than anyone.” her speech was still scornful, but now seemed somewhat confused. “because i could, because he wanted me and i took and gave as i wished, as jon has done.”

“_as jon has done_ to me,” she glanced up at _the king in the north_ with a sardonic expression.

“no,” the she-wolf said, supping at her goblet. “that was politics,” she said almost pitifully, a sweet tinge. she took jon’s hand into her own, “we are much more than that.”

daenerys took a heavy breath, opening her mouth to speak but in her place jon had, much to her annoyance. “must we speak of this?” he’d been irritated, despite his thumb caressing the back of the she-wolf’s hand. “the wights will be at our door and none of this will matter.”

“of course, it matters!” she roared, “you have humiliated _your _queen.”

it hadn’t been a lie.

“and i am sorry, i should have been honest with you,” he said, she’d almost wanted to believe that it was earnest. “i used you because we need you, but this does not mean that we will not fight for you. i am a man of my word; i shan’t lie to you anymore.”

sansa brought his hand to her lips and kissed it, _a reward perhaps?_ “i told him not to go. i hate what he did with you, to you; we cannot change that. we can argue or we can overlook it; if you fight beside us, we fight for you - but if you battle against us, the north will rise against you.”

_was that a threat? _the dragon-queen shook her head, “i cannot ignore what you have done to me?”

“we lied to you, that is what we _have done to you,_” the whore claimed. “i have heard you have taken many lovers; are you saying that you loved none of them but jon?” she’d laughed, “do you expect me to believe that? don’t insult me.”

“have no one lie to you before?” the king held his whore’s hand tighter than ever before.

“plenty have lied to me!” she shrieked, “but i trusted you.”

“i am sorry, but we cannot help who we love.” sansa said, “the night before he left, jon told that would be the last night, and it broke my heart. when he came home, he told me everything and i’d wanted to kill him. i have given him my bed, i have truly forgiven him, but i shan’t ask the same from you.”

her voice was honest, daenerys could almost feel sympathy for her; she hadn’t cared enough.

the sight, the two together, in such harmony - it’d made her want to cry; it’d reminded her of drogo, of what she and jon could have been. 

_he’d loved her, he’d truly loved her._

she looked to jon, “do you really love her?”

the king swallowed, his hand tightening about his whore’s hand, “i do.”

sansa hadn’t smirked then, despite the dragon-queen had expected her to; daenerys sucked in a breath, tears swelling in her violet eyes. “was there ever a time that we might of-?”

he interrupted, “no.” he was definite; he always was.

she shook her head in her disbelief, “never? truly, never?”

“i have loved none as i do sansa,” he said.

the she-wolf stood, never releasing her lover’s hand. “daenerys, i do not care for you in another way than necessary, but jon has some respect for you.”

the dragon-queen watched as she’d given a sort of strange plea.

“you own me nothing, but please do not tell the northern lords until after the war. they will dessert us, and we cannot afford that against the dead. fight with us to avenge your child viserion, and so that you may rule over the living and not ash.”

_she was a good negotiator_, daenerys would give her that, _or had it been manipulation? _to use her child against her in such a way, it’d been cruel; she hadn’t known if the she-wolf had meant it in such a mode.

“out of love for you, jon,” she looked to him, “i shan’t speak. you will honour your word and fight for me as i will for you. after that, i shall take the north and burn winterfell. for retribution for my honour, when the child is born, i shall take him south and he shall be my heir; he shan’t name sansa stark his mother, nor jon snow his father – he will be mine. am i understood?”

sansa looked to her lover, they exchanged a short glance. she’d looked back to _her_ queen and nodded. “yes, your grace,” her voice was slow and careful.

with that, daenerys took her leave.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sansa is way too sexual here, but that kinda the point lol


	3. i'm tired of fighting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “i want to die, jon.” she’d wept, clawing at his arms in her distress. he’d placed a hand atop her not-yet rounded stomach, soothing her. “i want to die, brother; i can’t-”  
“don’t say that, please.” he’d whispered to her, his arms tightened about her, “i love you, i need you. please, sansa. i love you. please, don’t say that.”

𝐣𝐨𝐧

* * *

sansa had been swollen with child as they'd left for king's landing, her belly had no longer been able to be hidden under her skirts. there had been no question of who the father may be; jon would shout and force his fist into his desk when a lord dared. then, his she-wolf would smirk, hiding her pretty, little mouth behind her goblet – only fading when she’d seen daenerys glare at her from where she’d sat.

_sansa hadn’t been frightened of the dragon-queen?_ of course not, nothing had phased sansa any longer, but she hadn’t wanted to anger the dragon. it’d been better to have a live child in another woman’s arms, than a burnt babe in his mother’s belly.

he’d remembered her tears after the dragon-queen claimed their babe, those angry and bitter tears that swelled in her ice-like eyes. “she is not taking our child, jon - not now, not ever!” she’d cried as jon wrapped his arms about her in a protective hold. he’d felt her entire form weaken, having her drop to her knees, shattered in his embrace. “please, jon; you cannot allow her to take our babe!”

he’d held her tight to his chest, he had pressed kisses to her forehead, nose, cheek, chin. he hadn’t seen her so distraught since they first spoke of the wicked ramsey bolton– since they’d first shared a bed; her nightly terrors weighing too strong atop her chest.

“i want to die, jon.” she’d wept, clawing at his arms in her distress. he’d placed a hand atop her not-yet rounded stomach, soothing her. “i want to die, brother; i can’t-”

“don’t say that, please.” he’d whispered to her, his arms tightened about her, “i love you, i need you. please, sansa. i love you. please, don’t say that.”

_i love you._

_i love you._

_i love you._

they’d spoken of daenerys’ words for the few short sennights they’d had left together. “i shan’t have mad-targaryen bitch rip my child from my arms,” sansa had placed a hand over her plump stomach; you mustn’t let her.

“then, sansa, what would you have me do?” he’d asked as they’d sat together in his solar.

“you know what i would have _us_ do,” she’d grasped his hand. “if she would listen to reason, then we cannot let her survive.” her voice had been quiet and careful, scarcely carrying the gravity of her words.

he recoiled, “you want me to slay my kin?”

sansa had stood then, towering over top of him. “i want you to kill _for_ your kin,” she’d moved to straddle him, taking his hands into hers. “for your child,” she pressed his hands atop her breasts, ample from child, the skin uncovered through her low décolletage was hot to the touch. “for me.”

she leaned into him; her breath burning against his lips.

_she’d sounded how she’d described cersei,_ jon had thought.

“kill her, brother; do it for me,” she urged.

he pressed a hand to her cheek, chasing her sweet lips. “i am not jaime lannister; i am no kingslayer,” he’d pulled at her lip with his teeth, having her moan at the pressure.

“and i am not cersei,” she’d ran a hand over his thigh, agonisingly slow. “you, my love, are a man of honour, that is why you hesitate to do what is necessary.”

“killing daenerys is not necessary,” he’d told her, low and steady.

he tried to ignore the feel of her hand across his thigh, but she’d only grazed talon-like nails against his jaw. “alright, let her take our babe; i will never forgive you for it, we shall lose our child and you shall lose me.”

he looked her in the eye, _she was serious. _

sansa kissed him then, her lips dominating him as her hands roamed his body, nails grazing against his wrist. his hand had caught itself in her almost-crimson hair, she’d bitten his lip as his fingers tugged at the firey strands; he’d tasted blood on her tongue.

her forehead had pressed against his own as he’d pulled away from her, a hand atop her hip. “i could speak with her; she says that she has some love for me still.”

“and what if she refuses?” she’d asked, “we cannot afford that.”

he’d remained silent then. he hadn’t loved daenerys, never – but he had respected her. she knew what she’d wanted, and she’d was so close to taking it; _who am i to take it from her?_

sansa pressed her lips to his - a sweet, chaste kiss; there had been a metallic taste to her mouth, his own blood on his lover’s lips. “kill her, do it for me,” she’d said, a breath from his lips.

he looked up at her; _it’s the only way,_ he thought. “if it means your happiness; yes, my love.”

her mouth was firm against his. she hadn’t smiled, sansa was never that cruel; she’d only pressed herself into him, her hands about his neck at the vicious kiss.

the day he’d left, she’d seen him off. “thank you; i’m sorry that there is no other way,” sansa’d whispered in his ear before he’d mounted his steed. he towered over her atop his horse, she took his hand, her thumb caressing his scarred knuckles. “come back soon, _i love you, i need you_.”

he’d longed to kiss her then, to claim her for all the north to see – his beautiful, sought-after sister. she was his sister no longer; she was his cousin, it hadn’t phased him much.

_sansa was never my sister;_ she’d called him bastard since she knew what the word meant.

forever she’d apologised for that, but she’d always be honest. he’d adored her for that; no matter how high each of them rose in this world, the two of them could always be truthful with each other, mock each other even. they hadn’t feared each other, they’d never fear each other.

_i shan’t lie to you,_ she’d told him once;_ that is love._

“goodbye, my love,” he’d said.

as he rode of, he thought of sansa. as he slept at night, he thought of sansa. as he strode into king’s landing, he thought of sansa. the feel of her kissed-by-fire hair, the look of her fair face, the sound of her intoxicating laugh, the taste of her warm and wanton cunt.

plump and pliant with their child, he hadn’t wanted nor loved her any less than before. all he’d ever wanted was to be home, to hold his child and his love in his arms, and to rest.

_i’m tired of fighting_; jon fought in king’s landing for her. he’d vowed that he’d live so that their child would not be taken from her, so that they may be happy together – _a family_, a pack.

_kill her!_

_kill her!_

_kill her!_

_do it for me._

the bells of cersei’s surrender rang throughout the capital and jon breathed a sigh. he’d lived, he’d survived, and he could go home – _i’m tired of fighting._ he forced his blade into the ground with a grunt; when he’d looked to greyworm, he heard drogon’s cry.

_a victory cry._

but then, suddenly - fire had gushed from the dragon’s mouth, he’d heard the screams of the people about him. lannister soldiers, who’d laid down their blades at the sound of cersei’s surrender, pushed past women carrying their babes. men took their daughters in their arms, running to save their wives.

_it was all in vain,_ he’d watched them burned to a brittle corpse. he narrowly missed the flame, himself – hiding behind a neighbouring structure.

but the dragon-fire burned homes and people alike, and jon froze in fear. his ears filled with dragon shrieks and children’s screams. men pushed their children into their homes, women running to hide beneath

jon heard the cries of children, saw mother’s burying their babe’s in their breast, smelt the stench of burning flesh. he forced his eyes close, praying to the old gods and the new that he may live.

_i want to live,_ he told himself, _i’m tired of fighting._

* * *


	4. i'm sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “i have had thousands of men want me,” she’d went on. “the difference? that i have only loved two. you were one; please, don’t go back to her. we can stay here, raise that babe together – as a family."  
as a family, he’d thought and had wanted to spit at the words.

𝐣𝐨𝐧

* * *

those lannister soldiers that survived had been slain before the burnt red keep as jon passed then, while the men and woman who managed to escape the flame had held their crisp babes in their arms. he might have shed a tear if he hadn’t been so tired.

_when this was over, i am to sleep a thousand years, _he thought.

he walked up the steps of the red keep, too ashamed to meet greyworm’s eye as he passed.

jon watched as daenerys stood before the iron throne, silver tresses falling down her back as her hand grazed the chair’s arm. “your grace,” he’d said, coughing slightly at the ash caught in his throat.

“jon,” she turned, standing above him on the dais, cinders falling about her like snow.

the throne room was burnt till black char painted every wall, and the stone of the steps cried as she’d walked upon it. despite this, the dragon-queen smiled – not a smirk or malicious grin but smiled as innocence’s blood dripped from her hands.

despite her surroundings, she’d been pale and untouched as she’d moved to stand before him. “i am your queen now; i expect you to bow,” she’d spoken with pride, her lips curling at the edges.

_no one was around,_ he’d thought. “i mean no offence, daenerys, but i do not bow to murderers.”

the dragon-queen frowned, “this was not murder, jon.” her hands came to lay on his cheeks; reluctantly, he allowed it. “this was purification; to purify, you rid the world of sin.”

“those children that lay ashes on the floor, were they sin?” he’d spat, having her hands recoil at the words.

“i once said that it would be _the blood of my enemies, not the blood of innocence,_” she’d told him.

her eyes bore into him, as though she’d expected him to believe her fit to lead still – but sansa’s words repeated in his head.

_kill her._

_kill her._

_kill her._

_do it for me._

she’d continued. “but now i see, clear as day, everyone in westeros is my enemies, because those that do not love me, they must loathe me. how can those that detest their queen be innocence?”

“dany, you are not thinking clearly,” he’d attempted to plead. “you are blinded by your own idea of perfection, that you do not see what you have done.”

“i will make a perfect world, jon,” she’d said, a hand came to his shoulder. “i want you by my side while i do it.”

he shook his head, “no.”

“i command it of you,” she’d said through gritted teeth. “i command you to love me, to stand by my side or you shall have to die.”

“no,” he repeated, “i don’t love you, i could never love you.”

“why!” she’d cried, her hand on his shoulder tightening about his leather jerkin. “why don’t you? why do you choose a northern-slut over me?”

“among the many reasons?” he ripped her hand from him, rage boiling within him. “most importantly, sansa is honest, she does not pretend to be something she is not.”

“i beg to differ,” she growled.

“no, _your grace,_” he mocked, “you don’t know her, just as you don’t know me.”

a tear fell down the queen’s cheek; _an angry tear,_ he supposed. “i want to; i opened my heart to you, and you threw it all for your own sister. how do you suppose that leave me?”

he didn’t answer her; _she was not his sister_. his dagger hanged heavy its sheath, begging to pierce the dragon’s scale-like flesh.

“i have had thousands of men want me,” she’d gone on. “the difference? that i have only loved two. you were one; please, don’t go back to her. we can stay here, raise that babe together – _as a family_.”

_as a family_, he’d thought and had wanted to spit at the words.

he frowned then. “_i’m tired of fighting_.”

she smiled, “then stop and stay with me.”

she put her arms about him in a sort of embrace, he placed a single, loose arm about her waist as she’d leaned her head against his shoulder.

daenerys pulled away ever so slightly. “will you? please, say you’ll stay.”

_sansa, i’m sorry,_ he thought, a hand about the hilt of his dagger.

despite himself, he kissed her.

she responded eagerly, pressing herself against him, urging his hand to her teat. he hadn’t moved on his own accord, her fingers urging his hand to cup her breast, having her coo at the pleasure.

it was then, his dagger pushed into her flesh, penetrating her heart.

_i’m sorry._

she leaned away, a look of shock and betrayal on her face. “jon?” she’d asked breathlessly.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered. “i’m so sorry, dany, but sansa will always be my queen.”

the mother of dragon’s body fell limp in his arms as he’d dropped to his knees. crimson blood trickled from her nose and mouth, and her violet eyes lifeless as he’d placed her to the ground.

_i’m sorry._

* * *


	5. i don't care anymore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “jon!” she’d said again, “it’s me; brother, peace."  
then, jon had eased at the sound of her voice, but his look had unsettled her; what had they done to him? she’d wanted him home; she had never wanted any of this nor had she expected it – no matter how naïve it may have seemed.  
“sansa,” he’d breathed a sorrowful smiled, pulling her into a tight embrace.

𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚

* * *

sansa hadn’t heard from jon in over three moons; she’d worried for him as she’d birthed their child - a girl, she’d named lyarra stark, after their grandmother.

she’d remembered as they’d laid the babe in her arms for the first time, she hadn’t wanted to let her go; she’d known that lyarra was to be passed about the room and displayed. she’d held the babe close to her chest, smiling at her sweet coos.

she’d been smaller than average due to her early birth but born with strong lungs, there’d been a small tuffet of raven hair atop her head. her eyes had been closed; only opening briefly so that one could see the bright, icy blues beneath.

sansa had spent all the time she could spare with her babe in her arms, she’d wondered of what jon might think of her.

she’d heard of daenerys’ death a moon after the fact, that jon had slain her as she’d asked. she soon found that he had been trapped in a southern cell. sansa had wanted to go to him because she’d feared for him; she had been too close to childbirth. she'd been too weak to travel to him, to reluctant to leave lyarra in another woman's arms.

she’d learned that the unsullied had wanted him dead; arya and herself only wanted him home.

despite herself - too soon after the birth, she’d left lyarra with her wet-nurses and hurried to king’s landing.

she’d forced the unsullied leader to allow her to see him. he could not refuse; she was a she-wolf of winterfell and soon to be the queen in the north.

the cell was cold and dark, the only light coming from the sparse touches about the cell, the stone floor covered in dirt and earth. she’d seen jon atop a straw-bed, his hair was long and beard unkempt. he was dressed in the armour she'd seen him last in, which had been torn to rags, a coat of dirt covering his pale flesh.

“jon,” she’d said, kneeling beside him, smoothing out her grey skirts.

sansa pressed a hand to his cheek, sweetly caressing his cheekbone. suddenly, at the feel of her touch, he’d jolted upwards. his hands were chained; despite it, they come to wrap themselves about her neck in his panicked haze. his grip was tight, tighter than usual, and there had been a somewhat of a crazed look in his eye. she hadn't feared him, she hadn't known how.

“jon!” she’d said again, “it’s me; my love, peace.”

then, jon had eased at the sound of her voice, but his look had unsettled her; _what had they done to him?_ she’d wanted him home; she had never wanted any of this nor had she expected it – no matter how naïve it may have seemed.

“sansa,” he’d breathed a sorrowful smiled, pulling her into a tight embrace.

without a thought, she softened into his touch as easily as she always had; he’d smelt of earth and pine, muskier than usual from a lack of cleanliness. “i’m so sorry that i hadn’t come sooner, forgive me; i never meant for any of this to happen.”

“all is forgiven, my love,” he said as he pulled away from her, his hands cupping her cheeks.

she’d leaned her forehead against his, a hand about his neck. “you shan’t be here for much longer; we’ll be home soon.”

he smiled, “i have missed you, more than you know,” he sighed, breath hot against her lips.

then jon had kissed her, pressing her close against himself. his lips were dominating, leaning into her - he'd kissed her though he was a man starving, deprived and wanton. she’d responded eagerly, wrapping a hand about his neck, nails tunnelling into his flesh so viciously that it might scar. her back arched against him, feeling his hand entangled itself in her dragon-fire hair, grasping her tight against himself, desperately.

she’d propped herself against the straw-cot, having him lie between her thighs. despite their circumstances, she’d smiled as he’d pulled away from her, a thumb caressing her sharp cheekbone.

she’d turned to kiss his grime-layered palm – a sweet, chaste kiss. “and i, you, brother,” her smile swelled as he’d grinned, holding her close to himself. he sighed, leaning his head against her shoulder. she’d held him close to her breast, slanting her temple against his own. “i heard what happened here; i’m so sorry,” she’d whispered against his forehead.

he’d glanced up at her, locking eyes with her, raven upon her ice-blues. “she burned them, sansa, all of them.”

sansa had embraced him again, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “i know, my love, i know.”

the feel of his arms had been a blessing to her tired bones, and they’d sat in each other's hold for some time; with every move of his hand, the chains cried. she hadn’t cared; with every breath from his lips, she’d thanked the gods, old and new - whoever might listen.

_he’s alive and with me,_ she had thought. _what more could i want?_

“i heard of the birth from arya,” jon had said, at last. his thumb shifted her chin to glance at him, “how is she?”

she smiled. “she is beautiful, jon. she has your curls and my eyes; lyarra is ever so beautiful.”

“_lyarra_?” he’d echoed with a sweet grin, “what a pretty name.”

“after our grandmother, don’t you remember?”

he’d pressed a kiss to her jaw, “of course, i remember - rickard stark’s wife,” jon had hovered above her then, ruggedly dishevelled. “do you think she shall be as dutiful as her namesake or _my mother_?”

she'd noted the hiss in his voice, spitting venom at the thought of the woman that'd birthed him. “jon, i'm sure lyanna hadn’t meant for people to die for her, you mustn’t blame her for it,” she’d said, a frown playing on her lips. “but we can hope for the former; we do not need another war.”

he’d nodded his head in agreement. “where is she?” he asked, almost half worried.

sansa pushed herself against him, her brow against his own. she felt his breath hot against her lips. “home and safe,” she’d said, "and you will be the same soon enough."

“good.”

jon had kissed her then, pressing into her in his deprived need. she had braced herself against him, arching into his vicious assault. his hands, constricted by his chains, roamed her form as though he had been reacquainting himself with her skin.

her skirts falling past her knee as his hand came to pull at the ends of her gown, running her fingers, feather-light, across her thigh, teasingly. she sighed against his mouth, slanting her head back as his lips travelled down her jaw, having his teeth graze against the sharp bone.

her fingers toying with the laces of his shirt, pulling at the strings. “we shouldn’t,” she’d breathed, wrapping her legs about his waist, his mouth suckling at the skin of throat.

“_we shouldn’t_,” he’d agreed, shifting to press his lips against hers once again, “but we both desire it.”

the breath caught in her throat as he’d ground against her, feeling his length temptingly press against her cunt. she’d whimpered against his mouth, shifting her head back at the desire churning in her belly.

“jon,” sansa had warned, sinking her teeth into the meat of his lip as punishment as she’d overturned him, having the chains strain at the sudden movement.

she’d straddled him, grinding her hips against his own, a metallic taste on her tongue. he’d smirked against her lips, having her wrap her fingers about his ungroomed curls and pulling at the strands.

sansa had felt his hands pull at her smallclothes, tearing at the seams of the fabric. she'd moved against him as he worked at her flesh, fingers digging painfully into her as she'd shifted. “please, sansa,” he’d whispered against her, “i _need_ you.”

“and you would have me be merciful?” she’d asked, biting her lip as she’d felt the cold of the steel shackles. 

she'd sighed as his thumb brushed against her inner thigh; her hand fell to the laces of his breeches, slowly loosening the ties. “sansa, please,” he’d pleaded.

she’d smirked, leaning her forehead against his own as she’d shifted down atop his cock, breathing heavily as she’d ground against him. “say it again,” she’d told him, her speed leisurely, agonisingly so.

“_sansa, please,_” he’d said again, watching as she moved to sit high above him.

“good,” she’d smirked, her hands against his chests, holding him down.

his fingers tightened about her flesh at her pace. "sansa, why are you punishing me?" he'd asked, the breath seemingly caught in his throat, strained and painful.

"i am not," she'd said as earnestly as she could manage with the feel of him inside her. "i am only reminding my king who he belongs to."

jon's eyes had widened at her words and she'd smirked.

“my love, you shall be king again; i will be sure of it, rid of these chains and a crown upon your head,” her mouth fell open at the feel of him inside her, slow and at her mercy. “the traitors that put these shackles about your wrists shall be put to death, for you are the heir to the seven kingdoms.”

his breath hitched, her hips grazing against his own. “sansa,” he’d repeated.

“do think the northerners would fight for you now; chained, lying between your sister’s legs?” she’d asked, her eyes meeting his gaze. “if they’d known any of the truth?”

“no,” he’d said, his voice strained.

“_no_,” she’d agreed, “but i don’t care anymore; let them scoff and let them fight against us for i don’t care.” she’d leaned down to him, quickening her pace as she’d allowed him to thrust into her. “i want to be your queen, i want all of westeros to know that you are lyarra’s father.”

his hand came to grip her arse, guiding her movements, quickening her speed atop him. her breathing quickened, heavy and scorching against his mouth - her breasts had been pushed painfully against his chest at the pressure of their desperation.

“i want you,” she’d exhaled, pressing a kiss to his lips, “i love you.”

his hand wrapped itself in her hair, sweetly nudging his nose against her own. they both had smiled, moving to press their foreheads against the others.

“as i love you,” he’d breathed.

_i don’t care anymore._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> did i ruin dany? maybe.  
do i care? not really.  
is sansa a whore? no.  
is jon better in this fic than in season 8? yes.  
hotel? trivago.


End file.
